


I don't feel anything (Until I smash it up)

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, things i did not research: anything about the magic john uses in the comics, things i researched: sex demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: Sometimes a blowjob is just a blowjob. Sometimes it's a near-death experience.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is a bit messy, but i’ve been hammering at it for months without progress, and i've got like ten other docs i want to finish, which i can't because this thing keeps making me feel guilty about abandoning it
> 
> anyway, this started as a quick “hey what if john and chas got stuck with each other's clothes? lol chas would be up shit creek wouldn't he" thing, but it got a bit bigger than that...
> 
> big <3 to jessicamiriamdrew for Everything; without her, it would be a way bigger mess

The most dangerous thing about Chas is his size. Not because it means he’s a tough bloke to knock around or because it gives him an edge in reach in a fight, though they’re both true. No, the real danger of Chas’ body is how misleading it is. Makes people think Chas is dangerous because of what he can do with his fists.

It wasn’t Chas’ knuckles that drove John here.

Pushed face-first against a wall in a grungy back alley, John probably ought to be thinking about the bloke with his fingers in John’s arse or the trouble getting caught having a public shag could get him in.

Instead, he thinks about the way Chas’ shirt still smells like Chas’ favorite soap at the collar.

He thinks about how much a part of him Chas has become and the depths John would sink to just to get a little bit more.

He thinks about his initial crush, way back when, and how it’s only gotten worse over the years, growing into something heavy and terrifying and immovable instead of fizzling out like it was supposed to. Like his interest always did.

He thinks about Chas’ broad hands and long fingers, and he wonders whether Chas would still let John get so close to him if he knew the things John does when Chas isn’t there to stop him.

Over his shoulder, John sees his one night stand roll on a condom, and a moment later, the bloke finally pushes in.

He’s not the worst lay John’s ever had, and it’s not his fault John spends the length of it thinking about someone else.

John knows better than to pray- the only things that answer beggars’ prayers are things best left unseen- but John has been wanting for so long. He’s only flesh and blood; he can’t be blamed for trying to fill the void with a hasty lay in a city he’ll never see again.

Even with his new friend doing his probable best, John’s mind drifts and blurs reality until it isn’t his hand stroking his cock but Chas’. He can conjure up the rough pads of Chas’ fingertips, smell the particular brand of dish soap Chas uses to get the oil off his hands after he’s been working on the taxi.

John knows he’s probably going to have to deal with some fallout from tonight, considering he’s wearing Chas’ favorite shirt. He’ll remember the way the brick side of the building dug into his face and the way he tugged up Chas’ shirt and the way Chas’ rolled up jeans pooled around his ankles. He’ll remember the way he bit his cheek and wanted Chas to fuck him open.

The bloke- Devin, maybe?- is making noises like he’s close, but John is the one who comes first, digging his teeth into his palm to keep from making too much noise.

He wipes his hand on his shirt out of habit, not remembering that he’ll have to give it back to Chas until it’s too late.

Chas always is on him about doing the laundry.

Devin finishes soon after. He wisely doesn’t linger, just takes a second to adjust his clothes and toss the condom into the skip, then makes his escape.

If only John could do the same.


	2. Main Narrative

Chas is fucked.

He looks into the open duffel bag on his hotel bed and sighs at the unchanged contents. He told John they should at least get different colors, but John was in a rush, just like he was when they left the mill house. John and Zed had their monster, and Chas had his. And somewhere in the chaos of John and Zed getting to the airport on time and ready to go through security, John grabbed the wrong bag.

There’s no goddamn way Chas can fit in John’s clothes. He’s tried before- once, when he and John were drunk and thought it would be funny, the way drunk people who live together and wash their clothes together and have a good six inches between the tops of their heads do. John can fit in Chas’ clothes- he needs a belt to keep the pants up, and he’ll have to roll the sleeves and legs so they don’t drag, but he can get away with wearing them until he can find something in his size.

Chas, who just got back to his hotel room after getting sprayed by some sort of mud creature while tracking down a succubus- alone, as if Pennsylvania wasn’t proof enough of why Chas shouldn’t have to fight sex monsters on his own- has no such luck. The last time he tried, he ripped John’s shirt up at least three seams.

He’s trying to figure out if it’s worth calling Zed and seeing if she can help somehow when someone knocks on his door.

Summoning up his courage- and wrapping his towel more securely around his hips- Chas opens the door enough to talk with the person on the other side.

A pretty, vaguely familiar woman tentatively smiles up at him. “This is probably really out of line,” she says, “but I was behind you when you checked in, and I heard you cussing just now. So I thought I’d ask if everything is okay?”

Clearing his throat- and suddenly very aware of how underdressed he is- Chas nods. “Yeah, I’m, uh. I’m fine. Just having some trouble with my laundry.”

She gives him a sympathetic look. “Didn’t bring enough?”

“More like plenty of the wrong kind.” At the raised brow that gets, Chas clears his throat again. “Grabbed the wrong bag. And there’s no in-house laundry service here.”

Of course there isn’t. It’s a two star motel. Barely. He’s lucky the sheets probably get washed.

“Not in this sort of place, no.” The woman smiles at him. “Tell you what. You give me your measurements, and I’ll grab you some clean clothes.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“And you didn’t. I volunteered. Now go write down size you take, and I’ll get you some basics.”

Every instinct says not to do it- it’s weird and an imposition and he doesn’t know her. But what other choice does he have? He can’t walk around in just a towel, and the succubus won’t wait while he drives down to Georgia and back.

He reluctantly goes to the bedside table and writes down what she needs, then hands the paper over, feeling like a lost little boy on his first day of school all the while. It’s not a good feeling, but the smile the woman gives him is warm and happy, which takes some of the sting out.

“Hey, you never told me your name,” Chas says as she starts to turn away.

Her smile grows. “No, I didn’t.” She holds out a hand. “It’s Sami.”

He takes it. “Chas. I really appreciate this.”

“Oh, I’m happy to help, Chas. I’ve always had a spot in my heart for helpless men.”

She doesn’t give him time to ask what that means, just turns and heads out, long hair bouncing against her back as she goes.

As he watches her, Chas can’t quite shake the feeling he made a mistake somewhere and it’s going to come back to bite him.

 

xx

 

Zed finds John in a small, grungy bar where he’s definitely about to get invited back to the nice bartender’s flat.

“You have to stop.”

John doesn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing him groan. “Stop what, luv? Having a good time?”

“We’re supposed to be working,” Zed hisses.

“And we are. But we can’t do anything until the _ala_ reveals herself and Ritchie gets back to me with the translation of the eagle invocation from his friend,” John points out. “Unless you happen to know a man who’s half dragon and willing to kill our monster for us?”

She glares at him, but she can’t yell at him about something that’s out of his hands.

“You could at least feign concern for the farmers.”

John sighs. “I feel for them plenty, but I won’t do them any good by getting myself all worked up, will I?”

Zed shrugs, which he takes as a show of doubt, but stops glaring.

From the look on her face, John lost the bartender’s interest- a shame, when she has such lovely blue eyes and a look in them like John would have been the one having trouble walking tomorrow- but he isn’t that put out. It’s only a shag, after all. There will be others.

Zed waits an entire two more minutes before she gives in and asks what she really came to ask.

“Have you talked to Chas?”

“Not since we left.”

He doesn’t need to see her frown to know she doesn’t like that answer.

Neither, frankly, does John. But in John’s case, that’s predicated on his wanting Chas to be around as much as possible rather than concern that Chas might be getting himself into trouble.

He takes a sip of his drink. “He’s fine, Zed. Anything nasty enough to outdo Chas is nasty enough for us to know about it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Zed asks. She plucks John’s beer out of his hands and takes a generous swallow. “You sent him after a succubus, and I read what he did to stop it.”

Digitized newspapers really are a double-edged sword.

“Well, this time, he knows not to piss about with trains.”

“John.”

“He doesn’t need me.” John stares at the bottles behind the bar. “The two of you seem to forget that. And Chas is prone to getting comfortable, so if I don’t keep him on his toes, he’ll get so comfortable leaning on me that he’ll hurt himself when I stop being there.”

It’s sharper than he means it to be, but John is only a man, and not a very good one at that. He fails. Frequently.

The least he can do is prod Chas enough to keep him from forgetting that. He seems to think John will be around forever. Even after all the death he’s seen, he still seems to think John’s the one touched with immortality.

Zed doesn’t reply right away. She just sits on her stool and drinks John’s beer and frowns hard enough to give him a headache.

“You can keep him on his toes without making him go alone,” she says at last. “Which you know.”

John shrugs. “He deserves to have some time to himself, too. It’s good for us all to have breaks.”

“Sure, but I don’t think he wants it.” John glances over at her, and Zed raises both brows at him. “Chas likes people, John. Especially his friends. The only time alone he needs is after you needle him. Which, again, you know.”

Sliding off her stool, she hands John his now empty bottle. “I think you’re scared of him, so you send him away. You say he’s getting too comfortable with you? I think it’s the other way around. And the sad part is, I think you want him to leave you. Then you can be alone and miserable and not have to wonder about love anymore.”

Revelation shared, she tugs on Johns sleeve, then walks out.

John touches his arm and fights the urge to curse when his fingers close around worn cotton.

Of course he’s wearing one of Chas’ shirts.

 

xx

 

Sami returns in less than an hour. There’s a bag in her hands, which she holds up when Chas opens the door.

He briefly considers trying to snatch the bag and pull it through without inviting her in- which would be a John move, and for once in his life, Chas wishes he were a bit more like John- but gives up on it. Sami smiles warmly at him as Chas slides the chain open and backs up, swinging the door open to let his rescuer and her bag inside.

“It’s just some jeans and t-shirts, really,” she says as steps through and holds the bag out. “And a pair of underwear and some socks because you’ll need those, too. You didn’t give me your shoe size so I had to guess, though.”

Her eyes flick to his feet, then back up to his face. “Glad to see I was right to aim big.”

It’s been a while since someone flirted with Chas this aggressively.

John does sometimes, but John is… John.

Things are different with John, always have been.

Chas accepts the bag as gracefully as he can. “If you tell me how much this cost, I’ll pay you back,” he offers.

Sami shakes her head. “I won’t take your money, Chas. Although,” she adds, her voice softening into a purr, “if you’re set on paying me back, you could always let me see how the things I bought you fit.”

Chas swallows hard. “I can do that.”

He has to get over John someday. And it’s not like John is sitting around with Zed wondering if Chas has been unfaithful- as if there’s anything for him to be unfaithful to. They’re friends. Chas fucking a beautiful woman in a hotel in his downtime between succubus attacks has no bearing on that.

“Then why don’t you?” Sami asks, giving him an indulgent look.

Chas doesn’t have a good answer- he doesn’t have much of anything coherent, really- so he nods and retreats to the bathroom.

She probably meant he should change in front of her, but Chas is out of practice reading strangers. Better to err on the side of caution.

After taking a moment to breathe, he drops his towel.

The jeans, when he pulls them on, fit him, but they’re thinner and more fitted than he’s used to. He’d never pick them out for himself, which is probably for the best. If he ever wore them for anything other than running out and grabbing clothes, he’d get grabbed the first time he had to try to run in them.

He can’t say he’s surprised that it’s the same situation with the shirt. It’s almost unbearably white, too, the kind of white that feels like it’s going break his eyes.

At least it stretches, so he could still use his arms to fight if a monster came after him.

It’s short, though, and as Chas watches himself raise his arms in the mirror, he follows the hemline as his shirt rides up and up his belly, higher than the flowing tops Renee used to wear before she had Geraldine- not for lack of trying on Chas’ part. He’d loved that flash of skin when she stretched just right, loved that she knew he loved it.

She won’t wear those shirts for him ever again, but his memories are his to keep.

Chas had thought that time and exposure to John’s tendency to do things naked would wear down Chas’ reactions to him, and he was right- to a point. Seeing John naked and covered in blood barely registers. But John after a long day, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and loosening his tie, baring his throat and just a bit of his chest, is almost unbearable.

Shaking his head, Chas forces himself to stop thinking about people beyond his grasp.

He looks at the socks and wonders, just for a second, if he’s supposed to put them on.

No one wants to see a man naked except his socks, so there’s no point in putting them on when he’s just going to take them back off. And even if Chas is reading Sami wrong and this isn’t leading to them having sex, then she can’t really be angry about him not putting socks on.

Worst comes to worst, he could just come back in and put them on.

Chas fights a sigh. He really hadn’t missed the constant guessing and hoping that comes with being single. Whatever else went wrong with them, he always knew what Renee wanted.

Maybe he couldn’t always give it to her, but he did know.

Done getting dressed, Chas steps back into the main part of the room. Sami, who’d sat down on the edge of the bed while he getting dressed, looks up from her phone and gives him a slow once-over, absently laying her phone on the bed when she finishes.

“Well, hello,” she says as she comes over to get a better look. “I knew there was something good hidden under all that mud and baggy clothes.”

Chas shrugs, hoping she won’t keep going about his regular clothes. He didn’t ask her to redo his wardrobe. He just needed some things to get him through.

And John likes his clothes.

John isn’t here, though, Chas reminds himself. John never will be here, and Chas’ heart can hurt all it wants, but that isn’t about to change.

Sami hums a little and lays a hand on Chas’ arm, and Chas suddenly, vividly recalls every day that’s passed since someone touched him like this.

“Chas,” Sami says, dropping her purse and putting both hands on his chest. “I really want to fuck you.”

There’s a strange feeling in Chas’ head, a sort of buzzing that gets louder as Sami slides her hands up to his shoulders.

He knows what she wants, and Chas dips his head for a kiss.

She tastes like cheap coffee.

The buzzing gets louder.

Chas keeps kissing her.

He puts his hands on her waist, and she wraps the fingers of one hand in his hair and tugs.

Chas can feel her sticky lip gloss on his face but promptly forgets it when she undoes the button on his jeans. He forgets it even more when she slides his zipper down and fits her hand to his dick over his boxers.

He hears her make a noise that isn’t entirely good, but she doesn’t let him try to ask about it.

“It’s fine,” she says against his lips. “You just surprised me.”

Chas doesn’t have the faintest idea what there is to be surprised about him right now, unless she’s making a comment about the size of his dick, but that doesn’t make much sense when she sounded unhappy.

She yanks his jeans and boxers down, and he closes his eyes even though he knows what he’ll picture the moment she disappears.

You can’t kick a habit in a day, and Chas has spent years thinking about John when he shouldn’t.

The first touch of her mouth should be bliss.

Instead, the buzzing in his head explodes into an agonizing snap. Chas yells, closing his eyes and one hand flying to his forehead.

When the pain ebbs enough for him to open his eyes, he spots Sami sitting on the floor a few feet away.

Expression pinching, Sami asks, “What the fuck are you?”

Chas blinks at her, equally confused.

Until he remembers something John told him once.

_“Clothes aren’t just clothes in our line of work, mate. My coat here catches all sorts of extraneous magic. Serves as a bit of a lightning rod, yeah? You’d be surprised at what a bit of cotton can hold.”_

Chas put on a pair of boxers from John’s duffel after his shower- a pair that technically belongs to Chas- and he didn’t swap it for the one Sami brought him.

Looking down at her- she must have fallen backwards when Chas felt the buzzing change- Chas is intensely glad John isn’t here.

“Just a man.”

Sami tilts her head. “You know what? I believe you. You’ve got the smell of Achilles about you.”

“Achilles?” Chas asks, stalling as best he can as he scrambles to come up with a plan for getting out of this.

She smiles. “Someone bathed in magic but not fully born of it. And not very good magic, either,” she adds, nose wrinkling. “It’s incoherent, like burning different scented candles at the same time. All marks of a flawed copy.”

“Let me guess- you’re not a copy, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

Swallowing hard, Chas says, “You’re the thing that’s been going around killing men. Not a succubus.”

“That’s not all I do, but yes, it’s been on my agenda.” Sami slowly gets to her feet, expression curious. “I’m a _chuiael_. I was created to kill. I wonder- what sort of being were you copied from?”

Chas gives that some thought. “Something fucked, I think.”

Sami smiles. “I really do love helpless men.”

 

xx

 

“He should be back by now,” John says. “It’s just a bloody succubus.”

Zed hums an acknowledgement, just like she has the last seven times John has said this.

“You could always call him,” she points out. For the seventh time.

John tosses his stress ball at the wall and pretends he didn’t hear her.

 

xx

 

Two hours after almost getting blown to death by a monster- he looked up what he ran into, and he and his dick would be sleeping more soundly tonight knowing there’s one fewer of those out there if it weren’t for the fact that Chas’ hadn’t known about them before today, so now he’s got to wrestle with that revelation- Chas pulls out his phone.

Zed answers on the second ring.

“Everything okay?” she asks. Then, obviously not to him, she shouts, “It’s Chas! I’m asking if he’s okay!”

“I’m fine,” Chas says, smiling for a moment despite the mess on his hands. Then he remembers why there’s a mess on his hands and a group of very unhappy Buddhist priests waiting back the temple. “Tell John he’s managed to make a name for himself among Buddhists, though, would you? I’m pretty sure an old man prayed for me when he heard I know John.”

He hears the muffled sounds of Zed putting her phone to her shoulder just before she shouts, “He says you fucked with Buddhists and they know it was you!”

Quieter but still audible is John’s reply. “No, he didn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“If you’re just gonna lie, you can give me the bloody phone-”

More muffled noises come across the line.

“How’s the succubus?” Zed asks, sounding like she’s one small step from laughter.

Chas can’t say he feels like laughing, but it’s good to hear her sounding happy. “It wasn’t succubus, but it is gone.”

“Interesting. You’ll have to tell us about it when you come home. How soon do you get back?”

Chas hadn’t been planning to stay long even before he found out that John’s reputation had made it this far north, but he’s really not planning to hang around now.

“I’ll be on the road soon,” he says, doing some quick mental math. Connecticut to Georgia isn’t a hard drive, but it is a boring one, and he’s tired, which means he’s got to factor in a nap at some point so he doesn’t waste a soul drifting off at the wheel… “Shouldn’t take more than sixteen, seventeen hours.”

“That’s a long haul,” Zed points out, amusement swiftly shifting to concern, “especially after a fight. You gonna be okay?”

“Of course he is,” John answers, sounding twitchy. “He’ll be home in time to cook us lunch tomorrow, won’t you, Chas?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Chas promises. He’s going to be exhausted and irritable after being cooped up in the taxi for that long, but he’ll be there.

He’s not sure how he’s going to sanitize what happened, but he’s got a long car ride and nothing to do but think.

 

xx

 

The moment she hangs up, Zed turns around and lobs a spoon at John.

“What the hell!” he yelps, dodging the cutlery.

“Something happened to Chas, you ass,” Zed snaps. “Couldn’t you hear it in his voice?”

John shrugs.

Zed glares.

John reaches for the spoon and, after a moment’s consideration, holds it out to her. “Like I told you before, I know Chas better than I know myself. So yes, I know what he sounds like when he’s stressed.”

“So why did you butt in?” Zed asks, and John is reminded that despite the easy camaraderie she and Chas have settled into, Zed doesn’t actually know him yet.

“He’s too tired,” John explains. “Chas is prone to oversharing when he’s tired, and it always makes him uncomfortable later. So it’s best to let him come home and get some rest before we give him the third.”

Zed gives him a curious look. “Where did this new, sensitive John Constantine come from?”

“Been here the whole time, luv.” John gives her a winning smile. “You just haven’t been paying attention.”

“Or maybe you’re more worried than you want to let on,” Zed counters. She says it like it’s a secret, which John instinctively doesn’t like.

He likes her pitying look even less.

 

xx

 

Chas has been driving down I-95 for what feels like years, tuning out everything that isn’t speed limit signs and vehicles in his way, when he finds himself no longer on the interstate but slowing down as he brings the taxi to a stop outside the mill house.

Sixteen hours on the road and Chas didn’t think of a single way to mask the fact that he almost died getting a blowjob from a stranger in a hotel room.

He’s barely gotten out and started to stretch when the door opens and Zed comes out.

That’s not unusual; Zed likes to keep an eye on her friends, make sure for herself that they’re all right.

But John coming out with her, that _is_ unusual.

“What the hell are you wearing?” John asks.

Frowning, Chas looks down at his clothes and realizes after a moment that he never changed out of the clothes the demon gave him.

“I’m a hipster now,” Chas says.

Zed walks a slow circle around him. “Chas, my friend, you’ve been holding out,” she says, letting a dramatic whine creep into her voice. “I never knew you had an ass. _Un culo perfecto._ ” She says the last bit with a smile that says she’s enjoying having fun at his expense.

Chas shakes his head but feels some of his exhaustion lift. “My clothes got too dirty to be in public, and someone who didn’t know me got me new ones.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to specify that they didn’t know you.” Zed comes to a stop in front of him, clearly biting her cheek to keep from laughing. “I’m positive I know which way you dress now, though.”

Chas feels his face heat, which he covers with a cough. “I can’t feel my knees.”

Snorting, Zed gestures for him to head inside.

Chas nods, pausing only to grab his half empty bottle of gas station coffee and the duffel bag of John’s clothes.

John, of course, is nowhere to be found.

 

xx

 

Chas is wearing his underwear.

There’s no mistaking them. They still have Chas’ name written on the front in marker pen. An understandable but ultimately meaningless gesture when John, age thirty-four, wasn’t interested in flatmate boundaries nearly as much as he was in accessible laundry.

Chas hasn’t worn them since John decided he liked them and added them to his own drawer.

The fact that he’s wearing them now means nothing. He couldn’t very well fit into anything else of John’s; John knows because the night he and Chas tried to swap clothes is burned into his retinas, the sight of Chas red from laughing as he tried to get into John’s shirt without ripping it down the middle and failing miserably carved into John the way all his torments are.

Funny that Chas would care so much about ripping a shirt when it was John he was tearing apart.

The boxers are Chas’. He bought them. He put his name on them.

But possession is nine-tenths of the law, and John’s indisputably possessed them for the past year.

Maybe he can’t have the man in them at the moment, but the boxers are John’s.

And Chas is wearing them.

 

xx

 

“I’m sorry- a demon tried to have sex with you, and you let it?”

Chas slides the chicken into the oven, not avoiding Zed’s question so much as focusing on the food. Someone moved the racks around when he wasn’t looking, and he almost sent the chicken flying when he absently tried to put it in like he usually would, only to run into a metal rack.

Shutting the door and straightening up, Chas braces himself for a conversation he doesn’t really want to have but can’t avoid.

“Well?” Zed prompts when Chas doesn’t answer for too long.

“According to the priests, she was only interested in stealing my life, so I wouldn’t really count that as sex,” Chas says rather than pointing out that he didn’t know she was a monster.

“You sound like John.”

Chas shrugs. John does know what he’s doing with most demons. Mostly. “She wasn’t the first sex demon I’ve dealt with.”

“No, you derailed a train to deal with that one.”

“It did work, though.”

Zed groans.

Next to her, John- who’s been suspiciously quiet- asks, “How’d you stop it?”

“I did a little research after I headbutted her and found a Buddhist temple.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the paper one of the priests gave him. “Got one to write down what they did to kill her.”

John accepts the paper but tucks it into his pocket without looking at it. “Yeah, I gathered that much from your synopsis,” he says, “but you said the two of you were going to have sex, only you didn’t. Succubi and their kin don’t tend to give up just like that.”

Sliding into a free spot at the table, Chas takes a moment to start debating how to answer. The web of half-truths quickly gets too complex, though, and lying outright could be dangerous.

“She got interrupted.” He can feel John and Zed’s skepticism, but there isn’t much Chas do when he’s telling the truth. “She didn’t like touching some of my clothes- I figured it was some sort of magic leftover from being around you.”

Zed nods, expression clearing.

John frowns. “It's very possible that was a factor, but it wouldn’t be strong enough to stop a demon.”

“Then what did?” Zed asks.

John’s eyes are fixed on Chas as he says, “I haven’t got the first bloody clue.”

 

xx

 

It took John about a month to figure out that Chas isn’t good at lying. Beyond the little bits of deception all men are prone to and back-to-the-wall situations, Chas just isn’t wired for it.

That’s probably part of why John took to him like he did. Chas is exactly what he looks like. Hot-tempered and protective and impulsive and a hundred other dangerous things John has always been drawn to.

Chas doesn’t need to talk for John to know what he’s feeling. They’ve been together, in the simplest sense, for too long for John not to. John may not always acknowledge what he sees or understand what’s causing it, but he can read the shifts in Chas’ moods.

So he knows Chas isn’t being entirely forthcoming about the demon. He just doesn’t know why.

Yet.

 

xx

 

Chas is sitting in his room, trying to navigate a store’s godawful website so he can buy some parts he’s going to need for the taxi, when he hears his door open.

Zed knocks loudly and either waits for him to answer before she comes in or yells through the door, so unless things have gotten out of hand in the last half hour...

It’s possible someone accidentally incarnated a ghost or something, but when Chas looks over his shoulder to check, the figure in his room has the familiar weary shape of John.

A different sort of revenant but a no less dangerous one, especially in here.

“What’s up?” Chas asks, hoping this won’t turn into a thing but knowing it will.

John puts his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got a couple questions about your demonic encounter.”

Which means he’s here for a long, uncomfortable discussion. Chas should have known better than to waste his hope.

Turning the rest of the way away from his laptop, Chas folds his arms and resigns himself to another terrible evening courtesy of John Constantine.

“Go on, then,” he says when John doesn’t start on his own. “Ask your questions.”

John gives him a long, hard look. It’s been a while since he looked at Chas like this, and Chas is only distantly sad to realize he still finds it hot.

“You said the chuiael got rebuffed,” John says slowly. Chas nods, and John’s expression pinches. “What exactly were you doing when that happened?”

Chas fights the urge to snap; it will only make John dig harder. “It was a sex demon, John. What do you think we were doing?”

“Chuiael have a particular way they like to get souls, though,” John presses. “I can’t figure out what protected you if I don’t know exactly what happened.”

Later, when he isn’t being asked to tell the man he’s been pining after for more than a decade how a demon tried to go down on him, Chas might find this funny.

Maybe in a decade.

John doesn’t want to be doing this either- that much is obvious from the way his expression keeps slipping from amused to pained.

“I’m not trying to be a bastard, mate,” he says. “But if there’s something about you that’s protective and we could figure out what…”

Chas rubs his hands over his face. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”

John quirks a weak smile at him, and Chas knows that as weird as this gets, he’ll still have his best friend on the other side of it.

 

xx

 

John can count the number of times he’s been invited to Chas’ bed on one hand. He doesn’t even need the whole hand. Just one finger for this one moment.

He makes himself think about the smooth fabric covering Chas’ duvet. He moves his thumb over it in a slow back-and-forth, focusing on how it feels as he pretends to think about what Chas told him.

It’s hard to concentrate on magic when Chas is flushed in a way he never gets and John has the vivid mental image of Chas with his pants down.

Typical of hell to get a taste of something John will never have and then ruin it.

“So,” Chas says after John’s been silent for too long. “Any ideas?”

Rather than answer right away, John pulls out his pack of Silk Cut and, when Chas doesn’t object, lights up.

Most people don’t want to spend time around smokers when they’re smoking, especially over here, but Chas has never seemed to mind it beyond the occasional tetchy reminder to grind the butts out properly lest the hotel burn down. Sometimes he’ll even sit with John for no reason while John smokes, quietly breathing in the cancer that’s shrouded John since he made his grand bloody entrance into the world.

There’s a metaphor in that- Chas loving the things that kill him, probably. A bit cliché and oblivious but true nonetheless. A very Chas sort of thing.

Or maybe it’s Chas loving things that don’t deserve it.

Somewhere, in a parallel universe, there’s a version of them where John is lazily smoking his thousandth cigarette in their bed, and Chas is fast asleep next to him, naked and warm and all the things John wants but doesn’t have the balls to get.

“I think,” John says, dragging his thoughts away from the freckles he knows are scattered over Chas’ back, “it’s got two parts.”

Chas frowns. “Is that good or bad?”

“Well, it stopped your soul from getting sucked out your dick, so I’d lean towards good.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Chas doesn’t elaborate, and John hides a sigh by blowing out a long smoke cloud.

An ashtray appears before him- Chas knowing John would have just made a mess of the bed without a second thought and intervening.

John takes it, letting their fingers brush.

“The first part,” he says, “is the obvious. A human life is tied to its soul. But in your case, your life is tied to a couple dozen souls. The magic demons like yours have is a very old and very simple sort. I’m guessing that when she tried to work it out n you, she accidentally overextended herself. Sucking out one man’s soul is probably fine, but you’ve got thirty-odd in you. I’d bet what you felt was a bit of magical backlash.”

“So that’s how Zed feels when does too much?”

“In a way, maybe. You’re talking about different sorts of magic doing different sorts of things, though. It’s like comparing a racehorse and a donkey.”

Chas pulls a face. ”Which of those is me?”

Someday John is going to stop being surprised at how much of a shit Chas doesn’t give about magic. It’s almost frightening, how calmly he’ll hold engraved rib bones and give up his blood for John to do things Chas doesn’t understand.

He really ought to be more careful about the blood- you can do all sorts of nasty things with the right substance, and odds are, that substance is blood.

It’s probably for the best, though. Winger would be unbearable if people had to worry about what happened to their dirty tissues.

“You’re the racehorse,” John assures him. “Obviously.”

Chas gives him a look that says he doesn’t believe John. “So what’s the second part?”

John bites the inside of his cheek for a second, wondering if he can possibly get out of this, before he shakes his head. “It’s your pants.”

Chas frowns and looks down at his legs. “What about them?”

“I’m British, Chas,” John reminds him. All these years and the two of them still get tripped up over things like this. “Your boxers.”

“Okay, but I’m still not following.”

“You had on a pair I usually wear, yeah?” Chas nods. “Like you already said, when I cast a spell there’s magical runoff, and that runoff soaks into my clothes. So the pants you’re wearing…”

He doesn’t have to finish the thought.

“You’re telling me my dick was covered in magic,” Chas says. His voice is about as neutral as a man can get.

It’s disconcerting, because Chas is about as far from neutral as a man can get.

Rather than let the silence settle, John adds, “I’d guess that, your demon being what she was, the leftover magical energy from my spells collided with hers. That’s why she didn’t want to touch you with your pants on.”

He manages to get through the last part without choking or rushing, which must be some sort of miracle, because his mind has helpfully supplied a whole series of images of ways John could touch Chas like that, and they’re all as vivid and explicit as John has come to expect.

Chas leans back in his chair, expression tired.

“So it’s nothing I have to worry about,” he says after a long moment.

John wants to lie to him just to be done with this tidy little room that’s somehow spilling over with Chas.

Geometrically, he could reach out and touch Chas.

Emotionally, John may as well be in a different room. He and Chas aren’t the type to cuddle with each other, and the comfort they do have with each other is the sort born of shared grief. John wants in a way Chas doesn’t, and it puts them on different mental planes.

All the affection that draws people to Chas is within John’s grasp, but the love that makes Chas stupid, that terrifies him and raises his hackles and lets him hate, that’s out of John’s reach.

Not that he’s reaching for it.

He already knows the distance between his hands and Chas is greater than the distance between his shoulder and the tips of his fingers, and reaching for the unobtainable has never done John any good.

His gut says he should keep the truth quiet. It’s probably nothing, and Chas has enough to deal with that’s making him snappish.

Keeping quiet won’t close the distance, but if it turns out this isn't nothing and John’s silence gets found out, thar could make the distance grow.

He won’t have what he wants regardless, but he’d rather have the agony of Chas’ friendship than the hell of having no Chas at all.

“About that,” he says, cutting a look at Chas.

Chas makes a sound that thinks it’s a laugh but isn’t.

John pretends he didn’t hear it. “It isn’t only my clothes around me when I do magic.”

It takes Chas a moment, but John knows when he figures it out from the way his expression shutters.

“Casting spells is messy,” John explains. “Magic in its natural, undirected state doesn’t really want to be used. There’s a reason some people study it for their entire lives but barely use it.” Scratching at his jaw, John thinks of Felix Faust. The Rising Darkness is giving power to men who never ought to have it.

Men like John, who never trained in magic and destroy in their haste to save, and men who destroy just to feel the violence of it.

“The idea of witches living in isolation isn’t unfounded,” John continues. “We’ve known about the imprecise nature of magic for ages.”

Chas’ mouth twitches downward. “You never told me that.”

“Didn’t think you’d stick around. By the time I realized you weren’t going anywhere, it didn’t occur to me to be concerned with blowback.”

It sounds careless, but that’s because it was.

“So how do we fix it?” Chas asks.

John shakes his head. “Can’t fix it. Even if there were a straightforward way to counter spells, which there isn’t, we’d need to counter as many as possible. And not just the ones you witnessed- we’d need to remove the residue from spells cast on you, too.”

“Anti-magic?”

Chas knows there’s no such thing. A lot of things that amount to the same thing, sure, but none that exists in a form they can make use of.

John shakes his head, wishing he had something better to say. At least he’s consistent about something. “Sorry, mate,” he says. “If that were an option, I’d’ve doused the whole bloody planet in it.”

Here’s where Chas typically tells him to look harder.

“So, besides fending off that demon, can I do anything else?” Chas asks instead.

“I couldn’t begin to guess.” And there, in Chas’ wrinkled forehead, is the skepticism John’s been waiting for. “Warlocks and their lot typically isolate themselves, and it’s not like they really gave a toss about whatever poor sods they happened to fuck over.”

The words come out sharper than he intends them to, and Chas’ expression shifts from incredulous to something soft that makes John itch.

“The point is,” John says, hurrying forward before the silence can be one meaningful, “I can’t make any guarantees. Too many variables.”

You’d think, after more than a decade, that John would be used to Chas’ disappointment.

It’s John’s fault- it’s usually John’s fault- but he wasn’t the only one who made a mistake. Every witch and occultist who came before him did the same. It’s a whole chain of failure stretching back centuries, probably even millennia.

But it’s John alone who’s sitting on Chas’ bed, the weight of that chain and Chas’ misery slotting into place on his shoulders.

The thing nobody tells you about magic is that despite the dire consequences of doing something the wrong way, the good way is rarely much better. It’s just the first way they found to make things work.

Using magic is a bit like being a doctor. You need more than simple facts to be good at it. You need experience and creativity and an understanding of that no two people are the same.

Except, of course, for all the ways they are.

John should leave. He should stub out his cigarette and go. Let Chas find his anger and work through it when John’s face isn’t within easy reach.

“We’ll keep an eye on things,” he hears himself say. “All right? You and me and Zed.”

The look Chas gives him says John’s reassurance fell as short of the mark as he thought.

“Well, nothing’s wrong now,” he says in a tone John knows means Chas is resisting the urge to find out how easy that reach would be, “so I think I’ll concentrate on trying to find brake pads.”

John nods, and Chas turns back to his computer.

There’s nothing more John can do.

There are lists and lists of things he wants to do.

But not a bloody thing he can act on.

So he gets up, feeling Chas’ duvet cover slide across his skin for the last time as he drags his hand over it.

In his other hand, the ashtray feels like it’s full of more than the ashes and the butt of a single cigarette.

He leaves the ashtray and the remains of his cigarette on Chas’ bedside table, but the extra weight only shifts, moving from his hand to his shoulders.

He’ll adjust to it soon enough. He always does.

 

xx

 

Chas expects to be angry for longer than he winds up being. After John left, Chas spent the rest of the day cursing the people who designed the damn site with the parts he needs and cursing himself as he worked outside tinkering with the taxi.

John made himself scarce, but Zed came out and checked on him a couple times. She didn’t bring up the demon or Chas’ unlikely escape. She did have two plates and two water bottles, though, and they traded stories about how they learned what they know about cars.

Chas learned from books and YouTube and fair amount of trial and error. Zed learned everything she knows out in the middle of it, and from the way she scowled when she spoke, Chas figured he wouldn’t push for details on what the “it” entailed.

Then it was more tinkering and finally back to bed.

By the time he woke up again, the anger was gone.

Chas can’t say he’s surprised. He’s never been good at staying mad at John. His life is marked with times he’s gotten angry at John- all sorts of angry, from the kind that makes Chas shake his head to the kind that makes him feel like something less than human, something that has to force the anger out of his fists or it will implode.

But no matter how red his vision goes, the anger always evaporates in the end. And Chas always comes back to John.

That demon John cast into himself in Mexico said as much. Chas is John’s lackey, the mindless muscle that follows him everywhere, no matter the cost to himself.

Being a freak doesn’t bother him. But the weight of the type of freak he’s become is inescapable. He can’t make enough of himself to justify his survival over the others’. He can’t do enough to make up for not only surviving when they didn’t but then holding them back from their afterlives.

Sometimes he wonders if he should try to spend more time with their families. He got to know a few of them, checks in every once in a while with a widow or a son who doesn’t hate him.

Maybe, with the souls inside him, they can see and hear what he does.

If Chas were trapped like that, he’d want to see his family.

He’s already lost Renee and Geraldine. Maybe not fully, but enough to ache. And he’d worry about them.

And he’d want to see his little girl grow up, even if he couldn’t have a hand in it.

The demon was only half right when it said that John was the cause of Chas’ broken family, though- John cast the spell and encouraged Chas to make use of his unasked for gift, but it was Chas’ decision to follow him.

Walking stiffly into the kitchen, Chas grabs a spoon, a bowl, and the first box of cereal he sees and drops them onto the table. When he turns around to get the milk, John is standing between Chas and the fridge.

He looks way too cheerful as he opens the door and pulls the milk out.

It’s too early for symbolism, so Chas accepts the milk with a nod and returns to the table.

He hasn’t even finished pouring before John slides into the chair across from him. Chas pretends he hasn’t noticed. It’s too early for whatever’s coming.

John lets Chas eat in peace for thirty seconds before he starts talking.

“So,” he says, way too brisk for the hour. “Are you ready to fight evil again, or am I going to Florida on my own?”

Chas weighs the pros and cons of a decision he’s already made.

John gives a look that screams “What’s taking so long?” but doesn’t say it aloud.

Chas always wishes he would- the anger over the latest of John’s revelations may be gone, but that doesn’t mean Chas wouldn’t enjoy the sound John would make if Chas upended his bowl over John.

It’s not in John’s nature to be that generous, though, and Chas knows it.

Sighing, Chas scoops up another spoonful of cereal and says, “Yeah, I’ll go with you.”

 

xx

 

Someday, Chas is going to stop being the cornerstone of John’s life. Everyone has their limits, and eventually, John’s going to throw Chas like he always does, but Chas won’t boomerang back to him.

John has accepted that.

Accepting it doesn’t mean he can’t soak up as much of Chas while John has him.

They’re flying down the highway, windows down, radio playing whatever Zed tuned it to last time she was in the taxi. John, who finished his own drink an hour ago, has moved onto drinking Chas’ iced coffee.

Chas knows John’s drinking it, but he hasn’t said anything or tried to take it back, which is basically Chas telling him it’s fine.

With the cap off and his hair blowing, Chas looks like he was dragged out of one of John’s idle fantasies. If it weren’t for the fact that John’s bag is filled with the sorts of things only occultist or an especially grotesque murderer would have, he could almost make himself believe this actually is one of his fantasies.

Not that he isn’t trying anyway.

They’re leaving Atlanta for good.

Chas is checking the highway for places they could turn off and do a bit of necking.

All the demons and creatures that go bump in the night are dead.

John has the keys to a house he’s going to make into a home, and Chas is going to be there to help him do it.

If John wanted to, he could reach over and touch Chas’ arm, trace the curve of his bicep and follow his forearm down to his wrist, his palm, his fingertips. If he wanted to, John could pull Chas’ hand off the wheel, weave their fingers together and press their palms flush, and he wouldn’t even have to think about it because Chas likes holding his hand.

Chas is surprisingly sensitive, so it would only take a few touches here and there to get his attention.

And only one kiss to his knuckles to help him find his lead foot.

They wouldn’t make it to a private place, but Chas would find a road with a big enough shoulder, and John would unhook his safety belt so he could lean across the console and kiss him.

In the fantasy, John is what Chas wants.

In the real world, Chas just wants peace, something he’ll never find with John.

 

xx

 

Chas doesn’t say anything to John when he gets back to the hotel. He just walks into the bathroom, strips off his sopping wet clothes, and hops into the shower.

He’s never been a fan of swamps, and getting dragged into one by whatever bullshit they’re chasing this time didn’t endear them to him.

Damn thing didn’t even show him the courtesy of drowning him all the way, so Chas had to lie on the dirt and cough up murky water like everybody else

He’s going to be tasting the Everglades for the next six years, and it’s because of that swamp monster.

It’s also because John ignored Chas and ran off on his own, and forcing Chas to distract the demon so it wouldn’t drown John.

Only one of them resurrects, and it’s not the one who can actually fight evil.

It was a long, humid trek back to the hotel, but Chas still runs the water until it’s so hot it hurts. He can’t clean out his lungs or his throat. The dirty water he swallowed may have gotten coughed out or it might not. He won’t die from it regardless, but the taste is still there. The phantom pain of water in his lungs where it doesn’t belong is still pushing back against his chest.

He can’t fix any of that, but he can make himself feel a little less inhuman and imagine that the soap is mixing with the water and rising with the steam, every breath he draws cleaning out the dirt from the swamp.

Having worked with John for as long as he has, Chas always makes sure to pack a strong soap in his travel bag. Something he would have liked to have on hand after the last demon.

At least he has it now.

He’s worked his way over his arms and down to his hips when there’s a knock on the door quickly followed by the sound of the door opening.

Chas knows before he sticks his head through the curtain- before he even shuts the water off- who he’ll see.

“Thought you might want some clothes,” John says. “You’re always on me about being naked in other people’s homes and all that.”

He isn’t apologetic, but then, he rarely is. Regretful, sure. He knows his mistakes and carries guilt for them- he doesn’t like hurting people, even if he won’t acknowledge it.

But being apologetic would mean putting himself at someone else’s mercy, and that’s not something John can do.

A simple “I’m sorry” is never simple with John.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Chas tells him, then pulls his head back to his side of the curtain. He doesn’t want a fight, but he isn’t in the mood for the back and forth either.

A moment after Chas turns the water back on, the door swings shut.

Sometimes, he can’t help but wish that loving John would hurry up and kill him.

 

xx

 

From the big hotel bed, John frowns at the bathroom door and lets his mind wander.

Behind the door, Chas is showering.

When John went in, there was only a plastic curtain between them, which may have obscured the particulars but still showed enough of Chas’ familiar shape.

Familiar but out of context. The shower is one of the few places John and Chas have let each other have. John knows the shape of Chas’ shoulders, but he doesn’t know them naked and wet.

He doesn’t know Chas surrounded by steam and pushing his wet hair off his face.

John could have pulled the curtain back. He could have stepped inside and dropped to his knees and told Chas all the things John has learned not to say in the language he speaks best.

He didn’t, though, and he can’t tell if it was wisdom- don’t surprise Chas when he’s already unhappy- or cowardice- giving up an opportunity to have what he wants because he might not get to keep it.

Regardless, Chas is on the other side, using the soap he grabs when John has fucked him over and Chas needs to wash away the evidence. It smells nice for something that makes John’s gut clench, heavy and spicy, the kind of scent that feels like it can hide what it can’t fix.

John prefers Chas’ usual soap, the milky one that barely has a scent. Chas started buying it when he realized he’d have to shop for himself again without Renee to help, and while John may know better than to say so aloud, this one is infinitely better than the one Renee liked.

Ideally, he’d smell like John’s soap from using John’s shower after spending time in John’s bed- and, more to the point, in John.

That’s not about to happen, but there’s no law against thinking about what it would be like to have all of Chas for himself. All of his attention, all of his affection, all of his loyalty…

John forces himself not to think about the suddenly silence when the shower shuts off or what else of Chas’ he could have all of.

 

xx

 

Feeling human again and almost clean, Chas steps out of the shower and grabs a towel. It’s thick and soft, and as he pats himself down, he finds himself feeling grateful that John likes to live large when they’re on the road. If Chas had picked the hotel, they’d be lucky to have towels at all.

The clothes John brought are on the counter by the sink. He actually kept them folded like they were in Chas’ bag, which is a first. Usually John goes through things like a tornado with hands, throwing things until he finds what he’s after.

Chas isn’t looking forward to the mess waiting for him around his duffle.

He’ll deal with it later.

It’s not as if he brought anything that needs to be treated with care, and this place is fancy enough to have a steamer if he needs it.

For now, though, Chas doesn’t have to think about anything more complicated than pulling on his pajamas. John correctly spotted Chas’ favorite sleep pants, and the tank he grabbed will do just fine.

He also brought a pair of boxers, which Chas slips on first. If it were up to Chas, he wouldn’t wear them to bed, but living with John has taught him it’s best to be as put together as possible because something shitty is bound to happen the moment you stop.

It feels good to be clean, Chas thinks as he opens the door all the way and steps out, toweling off his hair.

John hasn’t gone to sleep yet. He’s sitting on the bed, doing something on Chas’ phone.

As expected, Chas’ duffle and the floor around it are a mess.

Chas just shakes his head, tosses his towel back into the bathroom, then climbs into bed.

John is still on his own side, still sitting on top of the covers, and still wearing just his boxers.

Chas’ phone is on his bedside table now, though.

“I think I know what we’re dealing with,” John tells him as Chas gets comfortable. “Looks like a wayward elemental spirit.”

Chas groans. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I am.”

“Can we stop it?”

“We can.”

“Will it hurt?”

“It or us?”

“Us.”

John chuckles. “Then yeah. It’s gonna hurt a whole bloody lot.”

That’s par for the course, so Chas just sighs and closes his eyes. “Don’t forget to turn the light off.”

He doesn’t get an answer, but he doesn’t expect one.

 

xx

 

John listens to Chas’ even breathing and wonders, like he often does when he finds himself sharing a bed with Chas, how Chas learned to sleep so soundly. Tonight, he’s exhausted, but that isn’t always the case. Chas doesn’t need to drink or fuck or spit in a demon’s eye to drift off.

He sleeps fine on his own, and he sleeps fine when he’s curled up in a hotel bed with John.

The nightmares that have hounded John for most his life have no interest in Chas. He’s a good man, Chas. Maybe not a great one, and certainly not the best, but good.

The kind of good that doesn’t begrudge John his shortcomings. Sure, Chas will make sure John knows in no uncertain terms when he’s fucked something up, but that’s all it is with Chas. Just “John fucked up”. Not “John fucked up because he’s fucked up”. Not “John fucked up, but he could become a better person if he just made these changes”.

It’s always just “John fucked up”, followed by “Now we fix it”.

Maybe that’s why John has never quite outgrown his crush on Chas. Everyone else has eventually decided that John is fundamentally broken, and they either want to fix him or chase him out. But not Chas. Chas has seen the carnage inside John and still thinks there’s something in there that’s worth knowing.

That’s worth loving.

Even if it’s not the kind of loving John wants, even being this close to Chas is something.

Shifting in his sleep, Chas mumbles something unintelligible, then falls quiet again.

John can still smell Chas’ soap. It isn’t a bad smell or even an overpowering one. But it’s a reminder that Chas is going to be in the shower for even longer tomorrow, washing himself down after he dies for John yet again, though. And John won’t be in there to help and make it up to him, remind him that there are good parts to staying with John.

Feeling twitchy and knowing there isn’t anything to drink worth drinking, John gets up, puts on his coat and shoes, and heads outside for a smoke.

Chas will know where to find him if something comes up.

 

xx

 

Chas wakes up with jolt. His heart is racing, beating so hard it feels like it’s going to burst through his ribs. He’s breathing hard, too, and drenched in sweat.

He knows it was a nightmare that woke him, but that doesn’t stop his hands from shaking.

When he turns the light on, it feels like catching a sledgehammer with his eyes, but at least the light chases away the worst of the nightmare, slotting reality back into place.

Is it a nightmare if it was real, though?

Chas can still smell the chuiael’s perfume. His skin feels the weight of her phantom touch. He can even taste her lip gloss, though it’s gone sour in his mouth.

He lies on his back for a while, catching his breath and letting his heartbeat slow down.

It’s not enough. He can still feel her lingering, waiting for him. It’s strange to feel fear for himself, but as Chas lies in the big bed on his own, he feels a shiver of dread. He’s only flesh and blood- he’s able to heal faster and come back from death, for now, and he’d let himself forget how personal death can be. The way it comes for you from any angle, twisting anything into a weapon.

There’s only one way to burn off the last of a nightmare like this.

He’s got to find John.

It takes him longer than usual, but eventually Chas finds him standing at the far end of the parking lot, lazily puffing on a cigarette.

The clench of Chas’ heart at the sight of him barely registers as pain.

John hears him coming and turns to look at him, an odd expression on his face. He doesn’t say anything when Chas reaches him, though, just tilts his head back and looks up at the stars.

He looks ridiculous- borderline suspicious- in his long dress coat, no pants, and no socks, but as Chas lets himself relax and breathe in the smoke from John’s cigarette, he knows there isn’t anyone in the world he wants like he wants John Constantine.

There’s no happy ending with John, not even as his friend, and Chas knows it. He doesn’t like it, and he’ll fight it for as long as he can, but he knows better than to think that anchoring his life to John’s will bring him any less misery than it’s brought everyone else.

When John finally speaks, he doesn’t bother looking away from the sky. “You should be asleep.”

“So should you,” Chas points out.

John makes a noise that says he accepts Chas’ point but disagrees with him. Rather than argue, though, he changes gears. “I hope you brought a key.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Nope.”

Meaning John either didn’t plan to return to the room or he was going to bang on the door until Chas woke up and let him in.

Resolutely not thinking hard about either option, Chas pats his pocket. “Got mine right here. You better hope I’m in the mood to share.”

“And people call _me_ a wanker.”

That’s all it takes. John isn’t the best at comforting people, but Chas likes the sharpness. The anger John carries just feels like energy when they’re like this. Dreams, even vivid ones, can’t hold a candle to the crackling realism of John smoking as he glares up at the sky like he sees god there and he’s squaring up for a fight.

Chas has to put his hands in his pockets to keep from touching him.

It’s enough that he can get this close. John burns through people, but for some reason, he hasn’t burned through Chas.

Maybe that isn’t all Chas wants from him, but it’s more than John usually gives. And that can be enough.

They head back inside after John finishes his cigarette. John leads the way, and Chas follows, content to watch the shape of him as they duck through darkened hallways.

When they get back to their room and John turns on the light, Chas has to bite his tongue against the urge to kiss him. He’s always been especially fond of John when it’s late and they aren’t racing for their lives. John gets a little more open, lets Chas have a bit more of him.

Chas absently takes off his shoes while he watches John do the same. There’s a familiarity in this, watching John go through the world’s least seductive strip tease.

That doesn’t stop Chas’ heart from beating faster as he watches John slip off his jacket. Chas hardly notices the scars anymore. They’re just another part of John, same as the lines of his tattoos and the knobs of his spine.

And it’s hard to think about old wounds when John is bending over, his boxers pulling tight across his ass.

Chas is the first to get back in bed, but John isn’t far behind him.

John doesn’t ask why Chas came to get him, and he doesn’t suddenly cuddle close, but after the lights are out and Chas is lying on his side, drifting off to the outline of John’s head, John does kick him in the knee.

There are worse ways of saying goodnight.

 

xx

 

John lies on his back and listens to Chas sleep.

They got the damn elemental under control, and Chas didn’t have to die to do it. He just had to eat a bit of mud. After the spirit slammed him face first into it.

Considering the things Chas made- and ate- when he was learning to cook, the mud was probably nothing.

Usually they would have left town by now, but Chas looked like shit when he said they were staying another night, and John is finding it harder and harder to resist when Chas gives him ways of sticking close.

Chas is curled up on his side now, his breathing soft.

John’s been fighting the urge to touch him ever since he let John manhandle him in line to get coffees at that rest stop. John only set out to test if Chas was still angry, but he wound up getting a good feel of Chas as he patted him down, looking for Chas’ wallet.

He just can’t make sense of Chas; after everything John has done and everything the world has done back, it doesn’t feel like something he ought to have, this friendship with a decent man. When he’s this close, Chas starts to feel like the worst sort of dream, the sort that never does anything dreamlike except convince John that he can have something good.

He keeps expecting Chas to disappear, has to fight the constant urge to touch him and be sure he’s real. So far, Chas has stayed real. He’s as solid in the sunlight as he is now, warming the cold sheets and filling up the space around John.

John keeps his hands to himself. It’s enough that Chas bears John’s touch when he’s awake. He doesn’t need to be woken up because John wanted to feel him breathe. And he doesn’t need John brushing the hair off his face like other, more privileged people have done.

He doesn’t need John.

Not like John needs him.

None of these are new thoughts. John has been wrestling with his feelings for Chas for years.

He’d just thought he’d be used to them by now.

He’d thought, after a decade of pining and friendship, he would have moved on one way or another.

John has had to deal with worse consequences of being wrong, but guilt fits his shoulders better than unwanted love.

Guilt can fuel the war he’s waging.

Love’s never brought him anything other than sleepless nights and the paranoia of losing something that was never his to begin with.

Beside him, Chas shifts.

John doesn’t think anything of it at first. Chas is usually a sound sleeper, though he’s prone to tossing and turning when he’s died recently, especially if it was messy.

Then Chas says, as clear as anything, “John.”

Head snapping to the side, John tries to make out Chas’ face in the dark. He’s learned not to trust changes in habit, and Chas is the most habitual man he knows.

“I’m here, mate,” he says, keeping his voice soft.

Chas doesn’t reply, and John starts to relax.

Then Chas says his name again, and there’s something off in his voice.

John reaches blindly for the lamp, doing his best not to look away from the faint outline of Chas’ face.

When he finally gets the light on and can see Chas, he lets out a breath.

No demon or spirit is responsible for the expression on Chas’ face. Just a regular nightmare.

John debates waking Chas for a moment before he shakes his head and reaches for him.

“Chas.”

Chas groans and says John’s name again, this time with a desperate edge, like his nightmare is ramping up, so John gives him a harder shake.

Chas only starts breathing faster, so John does the one thing he knows will help.

He pushes Chas out of bed.

The thump Chas makes when he lands is a solid one. John’s a bit proud of it.

Not that he’d tell Chas that.

It takes Chas a moment to start cursing, but once he does, John feels himself relax.

“What the hell, John?” Chas asks from the floor once he’s decided he’s profaned enough. “And don’t try to say you didn’t push me, because we both know better.”

“Sorry, mate,” John says lightly. “You were having a nightmare, and I don’t want my driver falling asleep at the wheel.”

Chas sighs. “Of course. Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” John assures him. Telling Chas that John was already awake might assuage some of his guilt, but it will also kickstart his fussing over John’s circadian rhythm.

Better a little guilt Chas will forget after some coffee and an hour of fighting with John over the radio than setting that off.

Chas gets to his feet with a grunt, and John watches him stiffly make his way to the lav.

They aren’t kids anymore. Forty is coming up on both of them.

For John, forty will be an accomplishment, if he makes it there.

For Chas, forty will be a reminder of the family he lost. The daughter he won’t have raised like he planned, the spot on his fourth finger where his wedding band used to sit.

The love Renee still has for him but has been so deformed by hurt and anger so deeply it can’t hold happiness anymore.

And the life he gave it all up for. The gory deaths and endless hotel beds.

His inexplicable loyalty to John despite John’s role in his new, godforsaken life.

Chas doesn’t shut the door all the way, so John knows he isn’t too bothered. If he were, he would’ve shut and locked it.

The water runs for a bit, Chas washing off the nightmare. Then he comes out, rumpled and exhausted and so real John’s heart stutters at the sight of him.

“You wanna talk about it?” John asks as Chas gets back into bed. He knows the answer- he always knows the answer- but it’s good to ask.

“It was a nightmare, John,” Chas says with a sigh. “We all get them now and then.”

John should leave it alone. It probably doesn’t mean anything.

 _Probably doesn’t_ and _doesn’t_ aren’t the same, though. John of all men knows how much work “probably” can do.

John turns onto his side as Chas stretches out on his back. “You said my name.”

“I’m sure I said a lot of things.”

“But you didn’t. You only said the one.”

If John didn’t know Chas like he does, he’d mistake the muscle jumping in Chas’ jaw for anger.

John may be cagey about sharing his feelings, but Chas is downright mulish. If he isn’t outright dismissing he even has them, then he’s ignoring them and ignoring them and ignoring them until he’s drowning in his own misery, and even then, he’ll do his best to pretend he isn’t.

Normally John would let him be- Chas won’t share until he reaches critical emotional mass- but Chas has been off for a while, and if there’s one thing John knows about powder kegs like Chas, it’s the importance of stopping the flame before it’s eaten its way up the fuse rather than cleaning up after the explosion.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

Chas doesn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”

John bites his cheek to fight the urge to sigh. He hadn’t actually thought Chas would say yes and make this easy, but he had hoped.

“You do know I can’t leave it at that, right?” John asks. “I wish I could, mate, but like I said. You’re my ride home, and you’ve been acting odd for a while now. I don’t really want to go to hell just yet, you know.”

Chas, true to form, doesn’t reply.

John wishes, as he often does, that he loved someone less stubborn.

Then again, Chas’ stubborn streak is probably the only reason he’s stuck around.

“Don’t make me be a prick.” John says it like a challenge, but it feels like a plea. He’ll do what’s necessary, but he doesn’t enjoy the brutality that comes with necessity. “You and I both know you’ll take it personally even though I’m trying to help, and then you’ll be a wanker for a while, which I don’t enjoy any more than you do. So do us a favor and just spit it out, will you?”

Seconds go by, and Chas continues his dazzling impression of a two-by-four.

“Right,” John says, sitting upright and crossing his legs. “I’ll just play Sherlock bloody Holmes, then. You’ve only yourself to blame for this.”

This time, Chas does actually turn to look at John, but his expression is stony.

“You’ve been acting strange since before you got back from dealing with the chuiael,” John begins. “So it’s obvious you’re upset about something magical. I’d say you were upset about running into another sex demon, but you weren’t bothered by the succubus as much as the train, and we haven’t seen any of those down here.”

Chas hasn’t started yelling, so John keeps going.

“There’s only been one other change, mate. Unless of course you’ve been holding out on me. Which we both know you do.” John remembers Chas picking up the Sword of Night and the fear the sight inspired. Chas may not be a liar like John, but he’s not above keeping mum when it suits him.

Not knowing what he was holding, Chas did what he usually does when they aren’t in mortal peril; he pushed back. And the damn sword was happy to piggyback on Chas’ frustration, coaxing him into spelling out wounds he’d been sitting on like any good mother hen.

Of them, Chas’ idea that John doesn’t pay attention to him was the most frustrating.

John does spend most of his time trying to beat back the swarms of hell with a fly swatter, which is attention consuming. And he does know that most of the time, trying to prise emotional talk out of Chas is like getting blood from a stone, so he doesn’t waste his time on it.

But John does know how to read Chas.

He may not always heed what he’s read, but he does read it.

Factor in the fact that John is hyperaware of Chas- the fact that John can’t help but track Chas, some part of him always aware of where Chas is in relation to John- and how distracting it is to feel that gaze he can almost convince himself is heated along with the weight of Chas’ expectations, and John can’t be blamed for missing some things.

It’s been years, but John’s just as desperate for Chas as he was when Chas was the fit roadie who was in charge of stopping Ritchie from smashing every guitar he got his hands on.

“Maybe it’s both.”

Startling- John got so lost in a memory of Chas in tight jeans deftly tuning Ritchie’s guitar, he forgot about the Chas he’s actually with- John blinks at Chas.

Expression turning slightly guilty- and isn’t that a new one to be aimed at John?- Chas shrugs. “I didn’t tell you everything that demon in Connecticut said.”

“Is that so?”

Chas nods. “She said I was ‘bathed in magic’. Among other things.”

“Like what?” John tries not to snap- there’s something tense in the air, something that says anything could happen, and there’s nothing more dangerous than that- but it isn’t like Chas to hold back. The fact that he’s been keeping mum about magic makes John nervous. Makes him question what else Chas is hiding.

What else John doesn’t know?

Chas looks at him for a long moment, and John lets himself look back. In the softly lit room, Chas’ eyes are almost unsettlingly blue, too bright and out of place in the dark. But the shape of them is familiar, comforting. John has spent so long with Chas- has spent so long imagining Chas- that there are days when it feels like he knows Chas’ face better than he knows his own.

If John had to pick Chas out with only his fingertips, he could.

“Well, she compared me to Achilles,” Chas says.

John watches Chas’ lips form the words, and he knows he’s tired because for a moment, all he can think about is how soft they look, how good they’d feel against his skin.

Swallowing hard, John says, “Well, it’s not an entirely bad comparison. You do both have a touch of immortality.”

“My mother wasn’t quite Thetis, though.”

No, she wasn’t, and though it’s been years since Queenie had a voice in Chas’ life, years that have seen Chas grow into a better man than she would have deserved to call her kin, her mark on him ensures.

“Considering she told you I’d never stay your mate, I think we can confidently say your mum wasn’t much of a prophet.”

Chas chuckles darkly. “I guess we can.”

Taking a risk, John inches closer. He can feel Chas watching him as he does, but Chas doesn’t move away.

“Did she say anything else?” John asks when Chas doesn’t say anything on his own. “The latest demon, not your mum.”

Chas’ mouth twitches. “Yeah, I’m like scented candles.”

“Why do I sense an obnoxious supernatural comparison coming?”

The twitch grows into a small smile. “The magic I’m coated in is like smelling a bunch of different scented candles, apparently.”

John groans. “I don’t know what it is about demons that makes them so bloody weird, but it’s one of the only consistent things about them.”

“And angels?”

“Even worse,” John assures him. “They know they’re being inscrutable, and they enjoy it. Or at least Manny does.”

Chas’ grin fades as he nods. “You can’t tell, can’t you? That you’ve been splattering me with magic?”

“I can’t, actually. Couldn’t pick you out from any other man unless I cast a certain spell.”

John expects Chas to relax, but his expression pinches instead. He doesn’t roll over, but he does look away from John, eyes flicking toward the ceiling.

“That’s how it goes, isn’t it?” he asks quietly. “You do what you’re going to do, and I live with it.”

He doesn’t mean the years of spells he’s coated in.

“I told you I tried to reverse the spell-”

“But you couldn’t. I got all these people’s souls inside me, and I lost my family, but what happened to you, John?” His jaw works, and this time, he actually is angry. “I made the choices I made in the aftermath, and I’ll live with the consequences. But none of this affects you, does it?”

“Now, wait just a minute-”

Angry as he is, Chas doesn’t listen. He turns his head back toward John and snaps, “I’m gonna die alone. You made sure of that.”

John bites back the instinctive, _Everybody dies alone._ There’s only one person in this bed who’s died, and that person isn’t John.

“I wanted a family,” Chas continues, “and I finally had one. But now I’m back sleeping on my own and thinking I’m lucky seeing my daughter every other week. I can’t just try a relationship because of what I am and what we do.” He draws a long breath in. “I don’t care where I die for the last time. I don’t really even care how it happens. But dying when I haven’t seen my daughter in a month and my bed’s only got to fit me…”

He doesn’t need to finish the thought.

Zed was right when she said Chas needs to be around people to be happy.

For him, of course dying alone isn’t a matter of going out without witnesses. It’s dying without the certainty of someone’s love to ease the passing.

“You won’t,” John hears himself say.

Chas snorts and doesn’t bother arguing.

Maybe, if it weren’t for the way the room feels like it’s holding its breath, John would let Chas blow him off. He’d laugh and tell a joke, and they’d turn off the light and go to sleep. Tomorrow they’d get up and drive back to the mill house. Zed would come out and make sure they’re both intact, and everything would stay the same.

But that dangerous feeling of possibility is making John itch, and it’s telling him that Chas brought this up for a reason.

So John takes a breath and says, “It’s not just immortality.”

Chas frowns. “What?”

“You and Achilles. The immortality isn’t all you have in common.”

“John, I really don’t feel like-”

“He loved Patroclus,” John continues, talking over him. “Loved him so much, he got himself killed, didn't he?”

Chas doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t leave, though. If he didn’t want what John’s getting at, he’d say so.

“Patroclus loved him back, yeah?” John asks.

He gets a small, stone-faced nod in answer.

“You and me- we’re not them. Not by a long shot. But neither of them died alone.” Reaching out, John lays his hand on Chas’ arm. “I don’t see why either of us should.”

Chas closes his eyes for a long moment.

When he opens them again, he gives John the sort of tired look he used to get after a long day of arguing with Renee and her lawyer. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” Chas glares at him. “You don’t do melodrama, John, and neither do I.”

Given what John knows of himself and Chas, that’s horseshit, but he doesn’t say so. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Mate, I’ve been in love with you for so bloody long, I almost forget if I don’t think about it.”

And if he doesn’t think about Chas.

So he doesn’t really ever forget. But he hasn’t had to deal with the feeling of actively lining for a while, which has been a mercy.

Chas frowns at him and in a move so him, John really ought to have seen it coming, says, “So, you and Renee-”

“Do not get along because our worldviews and personalities clash,” John finishes flatly, letting Chas have a moment to think he’s won a change of topic. Chas’ lips lift into a smile, and just to be a prick, John adds, “And you were always begging off early to be with her. Hard to like a bird who’s always luring your best mate away, you know.”

Frowning, Chas says, “We were together, John. I know you’ve had enough relationships to know how they work.”

“Never said you were wrong to leave, did I? Just that she and I weren’t going to get on when neither of us has ever been interested in sharing.” John quirks a brow. “We’re still not interested in it, but she had her chance at having you.”

There’s a lot John is leaving unsaid, but he can still feel that sharp edge of promise in the air. Chas knows him better than anyone. He’ll know what John is leaving out and how to fill in the blanks.

The question is, what will he make of what he finds?

It takes an interminable time- a full twenty, twenty-five seconds- for Chas to get what John is driving at and figure out what to do with it.

When he does, he sits up and sighs. “I don’t know when I fell in love with you,” he says slowly, turning his head slightly as he studied John, “but I’ve spent a long time wishing I could forget.”

There are spaces Chas is leaving blank, too. John could puzzle them out, but he doesn’t want to. Chas is still here. He’s here, and he loves John, and it’s been far too long since someone kissed him.

So John lays his hands on the bed between them and shifts forward, uncrossing his legs as he does. He tilts his head, watching Chas as he leans in close enough to say, “I’m glad you couldn’t,” to Chas’ cheek.

He only has to dip his head a little before he bumps into Chas’ mouth.

For once, Chas’ impatience is a blessing.

It’s a soft kiss, and short.

The next is harder, and John lifts a hand to cup the back of Chas’ head. He threads his fingers through Chas’ soft hair, strengthening his hold.

Chas shifts, but he’s coming closer.

He doesn’t stop kissing John, doesn’t pull away. He inches closer, tilting his head and pulling on John’s lip with his teeth.

John catches himself digging his fingers into Chas’ hair and fisting his shirt, caught off guard by the way Chas kissing him. John’s only ever seen Chas go slow, but the way Chas is using his tongue is anything but. And the sounds he’s making, the heavy breaths and little hums, they’re nothing like the chaste kisses John is used to Chas giving.

He can’t say he isn’t glad for the change. They’ve been careful with each other for years. John won’t break because Chas gets a little rough.

Just the opposite.

Aa good as this is- and kissing Chas is better than John dared to hope- and easy as it would be to dedicate the rest of the night to necking, John can’t help but notice the hand Chas lays on his leg. Maybe it’s just to brace himself, but maybe it isn’t.

Maybe Chas’ hand is inches from John’s dick because he’s thinking about the same thing John is.

It’s hard to make himself stop kissing Chas, even for a moment, especially when Chas frowns and tries to follow him.

John lays a finger over Chas’ lips, keeping him from trying to kiss him more.

He isn’t expecting Chas to lick his finger and try to take it into his mouth, and for a moment, John loses himself in Chas’ half-shut eyes and the feeling of Chas’ mouth around his finger, which could easily become other parts-

Mentally shaking himself, John reclaims his finger.

Chas, damn him, smirks.

John had intended to go slow- or try to- but if this is how Chas wants to play it…

“The one I time I don’t bring a Johnny with me,” John mutters.

Chas snorts. “You really think we’d get that far?”

“I think if we had anything better than spit and lotion, you’d be in me already.”

John says it as a joke, but Chas closes his eyes and takes a sharp breath in, like he’s caught a fist in the gut. John watches, transfixed, as Chas holds his breath for a long moment before slowly letting it out.

Plenty of people have wanted to fuck John, but none of them has ever looked at him the way Chas does when he opens his eyes.

Swallowing hard, John says, “Get on your back, mate.”

Chas leans in for a kiss first, but John doesn’t mind the delay when it comes with Chas’ tongue in his mouth.

It’s probably for the best that it took them so long to do this. If they’d tried ten years ago, John would’ve come in his pants by now.

Chas really is a delightfully big bloke, John thinks as he watches Chas stretch out on his back. The sort of big John was drawn to even before he had Chas to model his one night stands after.

The man looking up at him isn’t a surrogate.

Somehow, John’s got hold of the real thing.

Ifhes not careful, he’ll still come too fast.

John knees his way over to Chas slowly, taking in every bit of Chas as he does.

There are things he knows clearly about Chas’ body, and there are things about Chas’ body he can only guess at- and has guessed at.

He's ready to find out how right he was.

John swings a leg over Chas’ hips and settles on top of him.

Easy as that, John knows what it feels like to have Chas under him, and it feels about how he guessed.

A lap is a lap, but John knows these pants. He’s seen Chas stumble around first thing in the morning, clad in nothing but this pair of shorts. He knows Chas bought them in an economy pack because Chas has embraced every part of fatherhood.

He didn't know the sound Chas makes when John plays with his waistband, but now he does.

Chas lays his palms on John’s thighs and looks up at John like he has a hundred times before. All those times, he expected John to know the way forward, and all those times, John bullshitted them out the other side.

This time, John isn’t sure he wants to know what’s waiting out there. Here, in the dark, in the nice hotel room, they’re safe. Tomorrow is only theoretical. Consequences can be damned because no one has to see them and face them.

John can have Chas for the rest of his life, because for all they know, tonight will be end of everything.

As if he knows what John’s thinking, Chas lifts one of his hands off John’s thigh and cups the side of John’s skull, gently pulling him down.

John could resist, but why would he?

The kiss is soft, as is the one that follow it, and as much as John would like to move thing along, he also likes this side of Chas.

It’s not a side John often sees, but Chas does have a bit of sweetness in him. You’ve just got to know him enough to recognize what he’s doing.

A handshake for a stressed out mother is an offering of support, a human touch to ground her. Kind words for a girl whose friend just died are a bit of normalcy for her in a world that’s gotten flipped upside down.

He’s human bedrock- not unshakable, but constant- and John wants nothing more than to keep him for himself.

Somehow, Chas wants him to.

Pulling away, John touches his thumb to Chas’ lower lip. It’s as soft against his finger as it felt against his mouth, and when John traces the curve of it, Chas’ eyes fall shut.

Neither of them is perfect. But the way Chas’ breath catches when John lays his other hand on Chas’ chest feels like maybe Chas’ sharp edges could fit between John’s.

There’s so much John wants to do with him, and the tidal wave of fantasies he’s collected over the years isn’t helping him figure out how to move forward now that Chas is actually here.

There is one thing, though, one simple thing he can do.

Pulling his hand away, John leans in for another kiss.

It’s been a while since John kissed someone with a beard. He can hear the rasp of it against his face as clearly as he feels it. It’s softer than some, but the longer John kisses him, the more his skin will show.

A shiver runs up his spine at the thought of all the places Chas’ beard could mark him.

John shifts closer still, breaking the kiss but keeping close. He slides one hand to the back of Chas’ head where John can bury his fingers in Chas’ hair.

He gives a little tug on it just to see what Chas will do, and Chas lets out a soft, pleased noise.

That’s definitely not a noise John has heard before, and he feels jealousy curl in his gut, telling him he has to keep this for himself. Other people may have heard it first, but John will hear it most.

And last.

Chas tilts his head for another kiss, and John meets him for it.

Kissing Chas doesn’t make the world move, but it does come with the knowledge that Chas knows him. He isn’t kissing John because of how John’s arse looks in his trousers- although, that probably does factor in. He knows John as a man, and he’s decided he wants the whole package.

John’s always felt the upside to one night stands is they aren’t interested in you. You’re communing on the same shallow level. That’s why only having them once is fine.

But it’s also, John thinks as Chas breaks the kiss only to slip John some tongue with the next one, the downside to them. Chas’ fingers are starting to dig in, and John knows that’s a bit of Chas’ wild side sneaking out. He’s got no problem with that.

One of Chas’ hands slides up and around John’s hip. John can guess what Chas is going to do next, but he can’t help the moan that slips out when Chas gets a handful of his arse and gives it a squeeze.

Chas tries to kiss him around a grin and doesn’t quite manage it.

“You’re gonna be a bastard about this, aren’t you?” John asks.

Chas makes a noncommittal noise and gives him another squeeze.

John’s hips jerk as he moans again, pushing his cock against Chas’ belly. The hand on his hip tightens, not letting John put space between them, and John feels a flare of frustration that they didn’t strip down before they got this far.

Pushing the thought away- nothing to do about it now- he pulls on Chas’ hair again, just. hard enough to make the grin fall away so John can kiss him properly.

It’s a harder kiss than he means it to be, and over faster than he wants, but Chas and his tongue are back before John can complain.

He also slides the hand on John’s arse lower, down over John’s thigh, which he curls his hand around. He just runs his hand up and down John’s leg, from the back of his knee all the way up under his boxers to the sensitive skin where John’s leg meets his arse.

It’s the sort of touch John hasn’t had much of, least of all recently. He should have known Chas would love it; he heard enough old girlfriends and boyfriends go on about Chas and how _tactile_ he is.

Strange to realize John could join in with them now, could smile and reminisce about the breadth of Chas’ hands.

Chas doesn’t say anything about how easily he’s gotten John worked up. He just shifts the grip his other hand has on John, steadying him and making it easier for John to roll his hips against Chas.

It really would be better if John and Chas had both gotten naked before they got this far, but it’s not bad.

Not even close to bad.

John could get off like this, no question. Chas certainly seems amenable to it. But John is finally getting something he’s wanted for years. He doesn’t want to come in his pants and ask Chas if he had a good time, too, then go to bed like everything is normal.

He wants more than that.

Pulling back between kisses, John asks, “Get on your back, would you!”

It takes Chas a moment to obey. He looks dazed, blinking and frowning at John like he was so caught up in what they were doing that his brain can’t immediately make sense of what John said.

Once Chas figures it out, John watches him slowly pull away and do as John told him to. Chas is exactly as solid and touchable as John knew he would be. And John can see how hard Chas is through his pants- but here, John’s imagination fell short of the mark.

Chas fidgets a little as John looks him over. It isn’t nerves, though. Not Chas. Not with John.

He’s worked up, impatiently waiting for John to touch him.

Stripping off his shirt then scooting off the bed to do the same with his pants- which Chas watches him do with a look John hopes will last beyond tonight- John gets back on the bed. He debates his plan for a moment before mentally shaking his head and straddling Chas’ hips.

Chas immediately lays his hands on John’s thighs.

John reaches down and fits his hand around Chas’ cock through his boxers. The moment he does, Chas’ breath hitches, and he closes his eyes.

He opens them a second later, his gaze dropping to where John has started to move his hand.

There’s lotion in one of the bedside tables. John would grab it and get them off spectacularly, but he has something else he needs from Chas first. Something lotion would get in the way of.

So he slowly slides his hand up and down Chas’ cock and watches as Chas fights and loses to the urge to push into John’s touch.

John wants to talk. He has a thousand things to say. But as he listens to Chas’ breathing get faster and he feels Chas’ grip on his legs get harder, he can’t remember any of them.

He stops before Chas gets too worked up, but John knows from the way Chas is tensing up that he’s close.

Chas groans when John pulls his hand away, but he gamely lifts his hips to help John tug his pants down his hips.

John slides them all the way off and throws them over his shoulder.

“You don’t know this,” he says as he backs his way off the bed, “but I’ve wanted to suck your dick since the day we met.” He watches Chas digest that, Chas’ expression shifting from frustrated to stunned to a new sort of intense look John is going to enjoy getting used to. “I’d quite like to fulfill that fantasy, if you’re up for it.”

As predicted, Chas nods and sits up, letting himself be moved around by John until he’s sitting where John wants him.

It shouldn’t feel so significant that Chas does what John tells him to. He’s always been like this, always looked to John before anybody else. Always thought that if someone had the answer, John did.

Even after Astra, even with that impossible temper of his lurking just beneath the surface, Chas’ instinct is to bend to John.

One last shift and Chas is sitting on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs so John can come stand between his thighs.

John reaches for the hem of Chas’ shirt and gives it a tug. Chas obligingly pulls it over his head so John can touch him.

John runs his hands up Chas’ legs and up Chas’ chest, avoiding anything that might feel a little too good, enjoying the way the hair tickles his palms but enjoying the weight of Chas’ attention even more.

He draws his hands back down to Chas’ legs, and as his palms head toward Chas’ knees, he sinks to his own.

Chas takes a long breath in, and John knows he’s doing the right thing when he dips his head and licks the tip of Chas’ dick.

 

xx

 

It’s been a good while since someone went down on Chas, and as much as he can feel his brain trying to turn John into that demon, John remains, starkly, John.

As if something as weak as Chas’ imagination could make John into something he isn’t.

The way he’s looking up at Chas like he thinks he’s won something even as he swallows around Chas is the sort of smug look that normally tells Chas he’s about to take one for the team.

Here, it scares him in a way that’s got nothing to do with spilled blood.

A screwdriver to the thigh, while painful and messy, is survivable, but there’s only so much love Chas can survive losing.

John’s been holding Chas’ life in his hands for years. He just didn’t know it.

He knows now.

Chas tries to keep still, to let John touch him and swallow him the way John wants, but it’s hard. He’s always been sensitive, and he’s spent so long living from touch to touch…

He doesn’t realize he’s got his hand in John’s hair until he’s already pulling and John is pulling off to make a noise that makes twenty years of waiting worth every second.

John doesn’t fight to go back to what he was doing, just looks up at Chas, waiting.

Heart in his throat, Chas slowly tugs John’s head back down, and John swallows him down. He moves faster than Chas’ hand, ducking and swallowing and taking Chas in deeper than he has any right to.

God knows how many other hands have held John the way Chas is- John himself probably doesn’t.

Maybe Chas would care more about that number if it weren’t for the way John’s looking at him, that frightening look that says he’s won and Chas is his prize, and the hand John has curled around Chas’ cock. It feels possessive, like a pat on the ass that becomes a hand in a back pocket.

Chas has been John’s for years.

But now John knows it.

Chas tries to pull out of John’s mouth before he comes, but John shakes his head and grabs Chas’ hips.

It shouldn’t feel like a punch to the gut when John swallows, but it does.

John moves up for a kiss, and Chas kisses him as hard as he can. John makes a happy noise, turning the hard kiss into a series of hot kisses that make Chas’ skin heat, and crawls into Chas’s lap. He pushes his hands into Chas’ hair, and he grinds against Chas, pulling him in and locking him in place.

Chas reaches for the bedside table and the little bottle of lotion he knows is inside, but John keeps kissing him. Chas doesn’t want to stop, but he does want John to get off.

“John,” he tries between kisses. John makes a noise like he’s listening but doesn’t stop.

So Chas lets himself be kissed for a bit and an enjoys the soft sounds John makes until Chas reaches between them and his hand closes around John’s cock and he remembers there was something else he was supposed to do.

He turns his head, and John seamlessly turns his own to kiss Chas’ neck, which Chas does his best to ignore as he gets the drawer open and fumbles around for the lotion.

By the time he gets the bottle out, his neck is sore in a way he knows means he’s going to be covered in hickeys.

Nobody’s wanted to that to him in a while either, he thinks as he turns his head to get John to kiss him again.

John, because he’s John, has to take an extra second to do it, but he does slide his tongue back into Chas’ mouth.

Chas does his best to get the lotion out without dislodging John, but it takes time.

It’s worth it, though, for the sound John makes when Chas wraps his slicked fist around him and gives him a slow pump.

“Fuck,” John gasps, breaking a kiss to talks against Chas’ lips as Chas traces the wet tip with his finger. “Oh, bloody fucking- Fuck me, Chas.”

“Not till we get home and I can fuck you in my bed,” Chas says, catching John’s chin with his free hand and tilting his head into a kiss.

It’s a bad kiss- John’s mouth is open for a moan, and Chas didn’t plan for that- but the feeling of John fucking Chas’ hand is anything but bad.

Chas tries for a kiss again when his hand is at the the base of John’s cock, and this time John’s ready for him.

John tightens his grip on Chas as the two of them get him closer, John’s kisses growing shorter and harder the more Chas strokes him until he comes on Chas’ chest with a noise like he’s in pain.

Chas works him through it until John starts moving like he’s going to get up.

John drops down so he’s sitting on Chas’ lap, his head drifting to Chas’ shoulder.

Chas puts his arms around John without thinking, just wanting to hold him close, and tilts his head to lay it against John’s.

They don’t talk for a long time. John’s too busy catching his breath, and Chas doesn’t have anything to say. His chest feels full, so full he’s choking on the feeling, but that’s fine. It’s only John, making himself at home even deeper inside Chas. You don’t get happiness with John without a price. Chas has known that for years, and he’d pay more agony than this for him.

Eventually John’s breathing evens out, and he breaks the silence. “We should talk about this, but we’re not going to, are we?”

“Nope,” Chas says. He started rubbing John’s back at some point, and he keeps it up after he answers despite the tension creeping through his body.

John shakes his head. “Thought as much.”

He doesn’t sound bothered, so Chas lets himself relax.

“Guess you’re not the sort to get talkative after a shag, then, eh?” John asks, sitting up to look Chas in the eye. He’s smiling crookedly, mocking Chas but warm to him anyway, and Chas feels the familiar urge to kiss him.

He can do it now, he realizes. He can slide a hand up John’s body to his chin and pull him in and kiss him.

So he does.

And John kisses back. He doesn’t try to take it or the ones that follow anywhere Chas’ tired body isn’t ready to go, but he does put his hand on Chas’ shoulder and leverage himself even closer.

After a while- but not long enough- John pulls away, breaking one last kiss. “We do actually need to sleep tonight,” he points out. Then, mouth quirking, he adds, “Well, you do.”

He’s right. They’ve got a long drive home tomorrow, and Chas can already tell that John isn’t going to spent it sleeping quietly in the back like he spent the trip down.

Being right doesn’t make Chas any less reluctant to let John go.

He can’t keep John forever, though, and if this, whatever it is, can’t last through one night, it’s better to know now.

At Chas’ nod, John swings himself off Chas’ lap and onto his feet. He steadies himself with a hand on Chas’ leg before he stands up on his own and stretches.

Chas might be too tired to follow through, but he can still enjoy the sight of John stretching.

“Aren’t you gonna get cleaned up?” John asks when he finishes, seeming confused that Chas hasn’t moved. At Chas’ blank look, he gestures at Chas’ chest, and all at once, Chas remembers.

In the cold light of not being turned on, Chas really needs a shower.

“Yeah, I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, face heating as he gets up.

Before he can get past John, though, John stops him with a hand low on Chas’ belly. “Don't get me wrong,” he tells Chas’ chest as he ghosts his fingers up Chas’ body. “I quite like the look. But I don’t know if either of us will get any sleep knowing you’re a mess like this.”

Chas probably won’t anyway, but he hadn’t considered the possibility that John would like him like this- and it’s better for them both if he leaves that thought there.

Swallowing, Chas qnods and steps around John.

He takes a little longer than necessary washing up in the bathroom, not sure what John will be doing when he goes back out and sure he wants to find out.

When he does, the only light that’s on is the one on his side, and John is lying on his side in bed under the covers.

“Would you come back already?” John grouses. “It’s late, and someone said we had to leave early.”

Chas doesn’t reply, but he does climb into bed and turn off the light.

He lies on his back for a long time, listening to John breathe and trying to fall asleep. At some point, he must manage it, because the next thing he’s aware of, there’s sunlight coming in through a gap in the curtains, and he and John are both lying on their sides facing each other. They aren’t holding hands, but John did lay one of his palms over Chas’ knuckles.

They should leave soon, but Chas isn’t ready to get up, and John’s sound asleep.

Another hour or two couldn’t hurt.

 

xx

 

It’s odd, waking up this close to Chas. John can feel Chas’ soft breaths on the back of his hand, but more than that, he can feel Chas under his skin, curled up in his lungs. It’s not entirely pleasant.

He leaves his hand where it is, though, as he studies Chas. John knows Chas’ face better than just about anyone’s; he knows the sleepy set of his eyes, the blunt line of his nose, the soft shape of his lips. John knows Chas’ mouth by more than just sight now; he’s felt those soft lips and heard the sounds that come out of it.

Chas isn’t the first person John’s shagged who’s meant something to him. He was meaningful long before John got it in his head to want more than friendship allows, and he was never supposed to know the sorts of cruelties John contains. None of the people John’s loved was supposed to find that out. But they have.

John doesn’t know why Chas is different, and he doesn’t really care. So long as Chas stays, then the rest doesn’t matter.

There’s only so long that John can lie around watching Chas sleep, but when he slips out of bed, headed for a well-earned shower, he realizes he feels different. Not bad like a curse but unsettling nonetheless. And he can’t put his finger on why.

It isn’t until he’s stepping under the warm spray in the shower that he remembers what the feeling is: simple uncertainty. He spent years convinced that Chas had no interest in him other than friendship, and now that certainty, which he’d leaned on, is gone.

In its place are questions, none of which have answers.

He’s still thinking about the most difficult one- what will Chas do in the light of day?- when he gets out, and he’s still thinking about it with his towel knotted around his waist as he grabs gel from his bag and gets to work on his hair.

He’s just about finished when there’s a knock on the door. Chas sounds half-asleep as he loudly mumbles, “Out, John!”

It’s an answer to one question, at least. What will Chas do now? Exactly the same thing he normally does.

Which in turn begs its own question: is he acting normal because he’s pretending nothing happened? Or is something else going on?

There are no answers here, so John heads across the room and opens the door.

Dressed only in yesterday’s boxers, Chas blinks at him for a long moment before letting his eyes drift lower in one of the most blatant once-overs John has ever gotten.

It’s too early for this.

Finally looking John in the eye, Chas‘ expression softens.

Inconvenient that that’s the bit that makes John’s heart really start to race.

Chas has always had a poor poker face, and he isn’t even bothering to try now. His eyes have gone soft. His lips are pressed together. His forehead is wrinkled.

Not pretending nothing happened, then.

John opens his mouth- he’s not sure what he’s going to say, but given the way his skin is prickling, it’s probably going to be an invitation for Chas to get acquainted with what’s under John’s towel- only for Chas to shake his head push past him before he can say anything.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that,” Chas says, “but I had too much to drink at dinner last night, and you’ve been in here for an hour.”

Good old Chas, John thinks wryly as he makes a quick retreat. Nothing cuts through melodrama like a bit of the ordinary.

The question now is what to do with the space Chas cleared.

 

xx

 

The sight that greets Chas when he leaves the bathroom is painfully boring- even expected- but gets him moving faster anyway. He and John have been down to towels plenty of times- down to less than towels, now- but it’s not the same.

He hears the springs creak as John shifts on the bed; from the corner of his eye, Chas watches John watch him.

John got dressed in the sense that he put on boxers. The rest of him is still bare, lit up by the overhead lamp. The light catches on the hair on his arms, and Chas feels the ghosts of John’s hands on his own skin.

There are marks on John’s skin that Chas left, splotches of red and purple loud against John’s fair skin, and Chas can’t help but remember the rush of leaving them.

Whatever John is doing now, Chas doesn’t bother trying to anticipate it. John is a law and a logic unto himself. It's easier to understand him in hindsight.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the weight of John’s eyes following him as Chas gets dressed.

Nor does it stop him from pausing to look back when the bedsprings creak and John shifts closer.

By the time Chas is dressed, John is sitting on the nearer edge of the bed. His legs are spread, the hems of his boxers riding up his thighs. He’s leaning back, braced on his elbows, looking up at Chas with a look that says he’s after something.

“Last night was good.”

John can do better. He could butter Chas up, make him putty in John’s hands, drive every instinct of self-preservation out of Chas’ head.

“We should do it again.”

He could do all that, but he isn’t. Chas might know why, but he can’t be sure, and until he is...

Chas sits down next to John. “It was good, yeah.”

“That’s not very enthusiastic.”

“Maybe if I knew where you’re going with this, I would be.”

The easiest way to get an answer is to ask.

John cocks his head, studying Chas. “Where do you think I’m going with it?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked,” Chas points out.

That gets him a bob of John’s head. “I suppose,” John says slowly, “in broadest terms, I’m going wherever you’ll let me.” He scratches his cheek. “Bit tired of wondering when you’ll piss off, to be honest.”

“I think we both know that won’t happen,” Chas mutters.

“Don’t be so sure about that.” At Chas’ frown, John shakes his head. “You fell in love and left to make a home once before, mate.”

There’s thirty plus years of issues there, and Chas doesn’t have a remedy for a single one.

“You’ve got me now,” he says, in part because he has nothing better to offer. And because it’s true.

Then he puts his hand on John’s shoulder.

John lets himself be pushed onto his back, expression shifting from grave to surprised. Chas flops onto his side next to John, pleased with himself for startling John out of a mood, but in the space of a moment, John upends them. He pushes Chas onto his back and settles himself on top of Chas’ hips.

There’s an intensity to his expression that Chas can’t recall seeing before, and he isn’t sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

They have to check out soon, but John’s tugging Chas’ shirt up, and Chas has always followed where John goes.

 

xx

 

John has barely gotten his foot out of the cab when he hears Zed’s laugh. Chas, who’d already gotten out and has their bags in his hands, gives John a meaningful look.

“Oh, Chas,” Zed says as she comes over, clearly holding back more laughter. _“¿Qué te pasó? ¿Otro monstruo?”_

She says it in Spanish, but the quirk of her lips says she knows they understood. She keeps looking between them with a knowing expression, as if there’s any way she could know that John’s the one who marked Chas’ neck up like that.

Other than the fact that Chas is only wearing one flimsy shirt while John is wrapped up in one of Chas’ thick plaid button ups instead of his own shirt and coat.

Zed switches to asking Chas about the elemental as John gets out. He doesn’t listen to what they say as he stretches, but he feels Chas’ eyes on him.

He’s got the subtlety of a getting hit with a shovel.

John winks at him- subtlety is overrated- and Chas rolls his eyes. His face does get a bit pink, though.

Ignoring them, Zed draws Chas deeper into a discussion that sounds significantly more philosophical than John cares to touch.

So he’s confident when he heads toward the mill house that Chas won’t be far behind.

True to form, John hasn’t even reached the front door when he hears Chas trotting over.

It makes his gut turn over in a way that isn’t entirely bad.

“Not interested in debating the complexities of free will in beings that exist fundamentally not to have it?” he asks lightly.

Chas groans as he opens the door and waves John through. “She’s doing it on purpose. I know she is.”

“That does sound like her,” John agrees, wincing as he heads for his room. He sat in the front seat on the way back, and he didn’t stretch out like he should have.

He’s getting older, and his body knows it- and all the things he’s made it do that it wasn’t meant to. It’s a good thing he sprang for the suite in that hotel. He’s seen the sorts of mattresses Chas sleeps on.

Speaking of…

John isn’t the only one who’s aging. The spell seems to allow Chas to age, if a little slower than normal. His face has more lines, and John has caught him rubbing at one his knees when it rains.

His temper is mellowing, a little. He still gets his hackles up, but he doesn’t throw his fists around as freely.

Maybe, unlike John, Chas isn’t wearing away so much as having his rough edges sanded off.

 _Best of luck with that,_ John thinks in amusement. Chas is made of rough edges. The universe is going to have its work cut out if it wants to change that.

John is still smiling to himself at the thought of trying to make Chas into a quiet, well-behaved man when he reaches his bedroom door. He hears Chas’ footsteps stop as John opens the door and steps through.

“You coming, mate?” John asks when Chas doesn’t follow.

“The last time you invited me on here, you wanted to stab me,” Chas says mildly.

He comes inside anyway, John’s bags landing on the floor a moment later.

“I didn’t want to stab you,” John corrects. “I had to be sure I had the right blade, in which case it would only react to human flesh. And Zed wouldn’t have healed nearly as well as you did.”

Chas rolls his eyes but steps into John’s space anyway, his hands closing lightly around John’s hips as he presses close from behind. John allows it, encourages Chas to move his hands forward, lets his eyes fall shut as Chas pulls him back.

There’s a moment where Chas hesitates. John can feel it, has seen it happen enough to know what it means.

“Don’t you dare convince yourself I don’t want you. I’ve made it abundantly clear that I want you. Unless you forgot that I sucked your dick last night?”

Chas’ fingers squeeze hard, and John lets his head top back against Chas’ chest.

“Didn’t forget, I take it?”

“You know I didn’t,” Chas says sourly.

“I’d be happy to refresh your memory if you wanted,” John offers. He bites his cheek, fighting the urge to laugh at the way Chas pulls him even harder against him.

“Maybe I’d rather make new ones,” Chas says after a long moment.

It’s the tritest thing John has ever heard, but in Chas’ voice, it sounds like the best kind of promise.

Twisting around, John reaches up and pulls Chas’ head down for a kiss.

Chas lets himself be pulled.

For a long time, it felt like the best things in John’s life were things he took from someone else. And maybe that still holds true- the magic he uses isn’t his, the house he lives in wasn’t meant for him, his very life came at the expense of his mother’s…

Even now, the warmth of Chas’ hands as he reaches up and cups John’s face would have belonged to Renee if John hadn’t interfered.

Chas isn’t here because of John’s will, though. He isn’t covered in marks John left because John wanted it. He isn’t looking down at John with the kind of warmth that makes John itch because John cast a spell.

Whatever it is that keeps bringing Chas back to him, it isn’t anything of John’s doing.

Part of John, the smart part, says he should pull Chas to his bed and make those marks darker.

Instead, John says, “You’re not going anywhere.”

He means it as a question- he means it as a lot of questions.

Chas nods. “Nowhere else I want to be.”

“In that case, why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”

The hitch in Chas’ breath as John tugs on his belt is gratifying, but the kiss John gets- hard, shorter than he’d like- is even better.

John pulls Chas with him to the bed and flops down on his back. Chas doesn’t need any more invitation; he gives John a moment to get comfortable, then stretches out over him, warm and solid and better already than any of the fantasies John thought were all he’d get.

From the sound Chas makes when John squeezes his arse and the shape of his smile against John’s lips, he’s got the same idea.

The future and all the shite it holds can wait. For now, John‘s biggest concern is getting his hand down the back of Chas’ pants.

His next concern is getting Chas naked, but it’s not an imperative just yet. John is free to enjoy the feeling of Chas getting hard against his leg, comfortable in the knowledge that he’ll be taking Chas’ clothes off in a bit.

Last night was a rush, every atom clamoring for John to get what he could before Chas vanished.

This time, it just feels good. It’s just John learning this side of Chas and Chas learning him. It’s Chas kissing him slowly and rocking against him as John holds him close.

All his life, John has wanted more than he’s owed, and the world has done its best to remind him of his place in it. But its lessons have all come to nothing because the sound Chas makes when John breaks a kiss to tell him there’s lube in the nightstand only makes John want to reach even further.

The way Chas says his name when John sits up and takes off his shirt isn’t discouragement.

Nor is the catch in Chas’ breath when John is kissing his neck as he slowly brings him off.

Nor is the warmth John feels when he’s sitting between Chas’ legs, his back to Chas’ chest, and Chas is telling him to come.

Nor is their quiet shower after, when Chas is soaping up John’s chest, looking soft in a way John has rarely seen him.

And not when they’re lying in John’s freshly made bed, Chas sound asleep behind him.

Laying his hand over the one Chas laid on John’s belly the moment John got into bed, John closes his eyes and lets out a breath.

This is going to end in heartbreak. John knows it, and Chas knows it. There’s no other outcome. Hell doesn’t let you have a long, happy life when you’ve flipped the V at the Prince of Darkness.

Fallen angels aren’t that different from their brethren in that regard.

Behind John, Chas mumbles in his sleep, shifting and pulling John a little tighter against him.

 _Yeah,_ John thinks. _This is going to hurt._

Not yet, though, which is good because Chas hasn’t fucked him yet, and they’ve got no reason to leave the mill house tomorrow.

Zed can make her own breakfast.


End file.
